Founders
by midnightfame
Summary: Hogwarts is set to become one of the greatest schools of Witchcraft and Wizardry, its future is already set in stone, but what does the undocumented future have in store for its founders?   Founders fic riddled with romance and betrayal.
1. Guilty

Rowena's delicate hand clung to the banister as she struggled to steady herself. She soon felt an arm weave around her waist as the staircase continued to shift. She knew their moving patterns better than anyone; she had been the one to bewitch them, after all. She swiftly stepped out of his grip, and disappeared down the hallway as soon as the stairs settled, and before Godric had the chance to act on his desires.

Her strongly defined features adopted a softer expression as her eyes shifted from her reflection to the figure mirrored in the glass. She lay down her brush, and scooped her raven tresses back into a bun held together by a silver ribbon. Her heart sunk as she felt a pair of warm and weighted hands rest on her shoulders. The guilt had withered through her. She couldn't even look her best friend in the eyes.

"It's a nice night isn't it dear?" Asked Helga absently as she began to unweave Rowena's hair.

Rowena gave a subtle nod as a shadowy smile cast across her pursed lips. "Oh, Helga don't…" She trailed off as Helga's fingers raked gently through her hair.

"You look so pretty with your hair flowing freely. I don't know why you insist on tying it up." Helga said thoughtfully as she sat on the empty stool beside Rowena. She wore a warm smile as she looked to Rowena, as her gentle eyes began to study her friend's frown.

"Yes you do." Rowena said in passing as she rose from her chair in an effort to break away from Helga's strenuous gaze. She felt as though she was under inspection, and in truth, she was.

"Silly reasons." Muttered Helga, flustering with her nightdress as she followed Rowena to the bed in the center of the room.

For as long as Helga could remember, Rowena had avoided anything that reminded her of her mother, and the pair had known each other since being only girls. The truth was, Rowena couldn't bear to see her mother in own reflection. She was her mother, and her mother was her in every physical way. Their noses curved at the same point, their eyes were the exact same shade of icy blue, and their hair as black and silky as the feathers from a Raven.

She pulled back the curtains and climbed into bed, entangling herself in a sea of heavy, sapphire dyed sheets. She soon felt Helga's weight at the bottom of the bed, and before long, a gentle touch was moving down her hairline and along her jaw.

"When people look at you, they see you. You may share the same eyes, and the same blood may run through your veins, but listen to me when I say that you are nothing like her." Said Helga. A firm sense of reassurance lay behind her gentle words. "When people look to your portrait, they see only Rowena Ravenclaw - one of the greatest witches of our time."

Her kindness was only making matters worse, it did nothing but make Rowena's guilt to grow until it was almost unbearable. Helga had looked after her when she could not look after herself, and continued to do so even when she was perfectly able. She was caring, tentative, and she was _always_ there. Rowena did not want to cheat her out of the truth, but she knew that the unravelling of all the lies would leave Helga in tatters.

Rowena blinked back her tears, but a few escaped to roll freely down her cheeks. "Thank you, Helga." She managed to say, sounding not at all like herself. Her voice was shaky and reigned free without composure or balance, her words stuttered and amorphous.

As Rowena listed to the door close behind Helga, her salty tears began to flow freely. She was overcome with remorse. She had stolen moments with her best friend's love. The man Helga doted over, the man she had entrusted with her heart. Yet, despite her guilt, Rowena would not have chosen differently if given the chance. She cherished every magical moment with Godric, during which right and wrong did not come into the equation. At the time, they were far too consumed by their love for one another, to dwell on the fact that it was forbidden.


	2. The Colour of Jealousy

"I wanted to take a trip to The Magical Islands of the west, to bring back Unicorns to introduce to the forest, but Helga and Rowena are afraid of me encountering Veela, and never returning as a result." Said Godric, a broad smile etching across his lips. "I told them, 'I swear to Merlin that I would be able to resist them with the threat of feeling your wrath as a punishment.'" He added gleefully, as he continued to run a cloth over the blade of his sword, taking time to polish the dazzling rubies that were sunken into the hilt.

Salazar's expression tightened, and the sound of metal briskly meeting with metal became defending as he continued to heatedly sharpen his daggers. "You wouldn't have the will to resist." He said through gritted teeth.

"Nonsense, old chap!" Godric exclaimed, hitting Salazar on the shoulder after having stood up to put his sword back in the glass cabinet. He'd failed to note Salazar's sharp change of tone. "I've a will made of iron."

Salazar turned and took a grip on Godric's hand, and it took all of_ his_ will to refrain from crushing it. He watched as Godric's smile faded and his eyes narrowed with alarm. He let go a fraction of a moment later, and forced a smile. His elbows on the oak slab that had been fashioned into a table as Godric locked away his precious sword. He was too busy trying to calm his anger to notice the tiny yet largely footed creature take up hiding behind the door.

"Now, about these silks." Said Godric as he picked out a deep crimson shred of fabric from the mounded pile. "Red and Gold for Gryffindor, I think. How about Slytherin?" He went on to question, sliding a shock of bright green towards Salazar. "Green seems fitting for you."

Salazar looked up, and began to look through the fabrics before shortly retrieving pieces of silk dyed silver and emerald. "That's ghastly, Godric." He grimaced at the neon, before leaning back in his chair, his head lulling to the left. "What the-"

"Green, the colour of jealousy." Said a quiet yet squeaky voice.

"What is that doing in here?" Boomed Salazar as he picked up one of his daggers and took it to the House Elf's neck. "Were you spying?" He slithered, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"Salazar, please!" Interrupted Godric, pulling the frail House Elf from his grip. "We were only talking of house colours, not plans of treachery and secret." Godric sent the shaken Elf towards the door. "What on Earth is the matter with you today?" He sighed, and was quick to follow in the House Elf's footsteps. "You had better hope that Helga does not learn of this."

"Of course, your darling Helga would have my head on a mast for cursing an Elf, wouldn't she? Oh, I am scared, Gryffindor." Taunted Salazar, drawing his wand.

"Are you proposing that we duel?" Godric questioned. His own one wand was already in his grip. His deep brown eyes were wide and alert; his posture indicated that he was ready for a fight. A stunning spell was on the tip of Salazar's tongue when Godric shook his head and lowered his wand. "I'm going to bed before you say or do something that you might not live to regret."

He did not want to fight his friend, but he could not excuse Salazar's actions, which were becoming more unacceptable by the day. He was changing, for the worse. Just days before, Salazar had stated that only those with the purest of blood would be welcomed to Slytherin House. This open declaration of biased hierarchy had shocked the other three founders, and only Rowena seemed to understand his logic, though she in no way condoned it.

A great deal kept him from knocking. Her heart belonged to Godric, all three of them knew it, and Helga was the only one to remain oblivious to the fleeting glances that they shared and their timed disappearances. Salazar was determined to concentrate on Hogwarts, and Slytherin itself. They had already begun selecting students, and unlike Helga, who would welcome anyone so long as they had a good heart - Salazar proved very selective. But despite however important these things were to him, Rowena kept him from thinking about anything other than her. Throughout the days he what it was she saw in Godric that she did not see in him, and he would spend many a night outside her bedroom door in the highest tower of Ravenclaw. He yearned for the power to knock, to wake her from her slumber and request that she let him in. Night after night, he would leave her tower and descend into the darkness of the dungeons without her every having realised that he'd been there.


End file.
